


Blue Burns Orange

by yours_eternally



Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [2]
Category: Motionless in White (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yours_eternally/pseuds/yours_eternally
Summary: ‘Ow, fuck,’ Ricky says as a sudden burning sensation spreads across his hand. He feels his stomach drop. No. He looks at his palm, seeing the pattern starting to spiral and whirl underneath his skin.No. Fuckno. This is not happening.‘Is that—?’ Chris says, voice shocked. He’s looking at his own palm and Ricky wants to shout at him to stop it. Because this is not happening. Not now. Not ever. Not to him. Ricky can feel himself panting as the pattern solidifies, a couple of shades darker than his skin tone like a long-healed scar. Marking him as someone’s forever.On a night out, meeting his housemate’s new beau, Ricky gets talking to Chris and finds they have an immediate connection. But it seems their connection goes deeper than either of them expected.
Relationships: Chris "Motionless" Cerulli/Ricky "Horror" Olson
Series: AUgust 2020 Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859290
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18
Collections: AUgust 2020





	Blue Burns Orange

Ricky wiggles through the crowd in the packed bar. He’s dripping sweat, though he’s only wearing Ryan’s oversized mesh-shirt over his jeans, and undoubtedly his makeup is smudged halfway down his face already. Hardly surprising as they’ve all been crammed on the tiny, unairconditioned dance floor with everyone else in the club. 

Someone staggers towards him and Ricky ducks out the way grumbling; he is far too sober for this shit. It sucks to be what feels like the only sober person in a mile radius. But it’s his turn to drive — he and Ryan have a deal — and besides he’s got a shift at 11 tomorrow that he guesses he needs to be conscious for. And it's still funny to throw himself all over the dance floor, and chat with Ryan and his shiny new boyfriend; who’s so nervous to meet Ryan’s housemate he hasn’t spoken once. 

Ricky gets to the bar and downs a bottle of water before elbowing his way back to where he’d left Ryan. There’s a few others with them now, friends of friends he guesses not recognising anyone. Everyone’s laughing and dancing but Ryan turns to Ricky as soon as he spots him. 

‘This is Chris, Rick,’ Ryan calls to him over the music, pointing to the tall guy next to him. ‘ _He’s single!_ ’ Ryan mouths, with all the subtlety of a house brick, behind Chris’ back as he turns as well to say hi to Ricky. Ricky smiles at Chris awkwardly. He guesses Ryan gets a pass on matching-making this time, since he’s pretty new to being a wingman having been as chronically single as Ricky is until two months ago. 

And Chris is kind of _cool_. The tattoos and the piercings are definitely of interest, not to mention the eye-shadow. They talk bands for a bit, leaning in to speak in each other’s ears. Then Chris puts a hand on his hip and they start dancing, getting closer and closer until Ricky’s practically riding Chris’ thigh. He doesn’t seem to mind, hands fitting over his hips to hitch Ricky in another inch or so. 

‘You wanna go somewhere?’ Chris asks, lips on the shell of Ricky’s ear. 

‘Yeah,’ Ricky says, nodding and letting Chris lead him off the dance floor by the wrist. Chris guides him out the back and through the smokers’ area to what turns out to be a deserted toilet. It smells awful and the listing, heavily graffitied cubicles look straight out of the set of a horror movie. But Chris’ hand is hot on his waist and none of it seems important as Chris bends press their mouths together. 

Chris pulls him into the furthest cubicle from the door. Pushing Ricky ahead of him, before following him and closing the door at his back. The lock’s bust but Chris somehow manages to jam it. Chris’ hands are all over him, cupping his face moving to his shoulder and sliding under his net-shirt to stroke over his ribs. Ricky moans. 

Chris pulls Ricky into him again and Ricky loops his arms around his neck. Chris walks Ricky back the step and a half to the cubicle wall still kissing him. Ricky grunts when his back connects, letting Chris lick into his mouth. He moans, feeling Chris’ hand slip onto his thigh. 

‘Can I pick you up?’ Chris asks, kissing Ricky’s cheek and neck. 

‘You kinda already did…’ Ricky says, grinning when Chris blinks him but then gets it, with a snort at the dumb joke. Ricky tightens his arms and Chris lifts him, so his thighs are tight around his hips. Ricky kisses him again, harder, hands sinking into his hair. He’s hot in his club clothes and Chris’ mouth is burning on his neck. Ricky arches, pressing his cock into where he can feel Chris is hard as he is. Chris groans, then he pulls back a little. 

‘You’re not drunk, right?’ he says, peering owlishly at Ricky, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. 

‘What?’ Ricky says, frowning at him. 

‘Y’know, drunk, high, whatever,’ Chris mumbles, eyes on Ricky’s mouth as though it’s distracting him, ‘if you’re drunk we should… stop.’ He forces his eyes to Ricky’s. Ricky smiles, _cute_. 

‘Mm,’ Ricky says, laughing, ‘too bad for you, dude. I’m driving, so totally sober.’ Chris groans again, going to kiss him. ‘Hold it,’ Ricky says, ‘what about you?’ 

‘I don’t— straight-edge,’ Chris says, smiling with all his teeth like he’s expecting Ricky to scoff. But Ricky can give less of a fuck, considering he can feel the heat from Chris’ cock all the way through his jeans.

‘So… we can?’ Ricky asks, hand on Chris’ chest. 

‘Sure,’ Chris says and starts kissing him again. They rut and rub up against each other, stuck at the mouth, Chris’ hands tight on Ricky’s thighs, keeping him pressed between the tiled wall and his body. Ricky moans again. Chris’ mouth feels so good on his skin, and his hair smells musky and that's _so_ good as well, and the way he’s ticking his hips up into Ricky is twisting him up so tight he can barely breathe. 

He’s not sure who goes for who’s zipper first but when his brain catches up Chris’ hand is his underwear and his hand is fitted around Chris’ cock. Chris is groaning into his neck, hips rocking, fucking his cock into Ricky’s palm. 

‘ _Fuck_ ,’ Ricky moans, arching his back as Chris strokes him. They move and press against each other, and Ricky can feel his gut twisting tighter and tighter. His wrist is bent up at an awkward angle to work Chris but he doesn’t care and Chris’ tongue is in his mouth, and nothing has ever felt more perfect. 

Ricky gasps as Chris kisses him roughly, hand tight on his cock. Ricky moans, feeling his body tense a split second before he comes. The orgasm makes him shudder hard, dragging in air, as electricity sparks down his spine and thighs. Ricky moans going limp, still being held against the wall by Chris’ body. Chris keeps kissing as Ricky strokes him. He kisses over Ricky’s cheek, hips jerking into Ricky’s body. He grunts into Ricky’s neck, going still. Ricky can feel him coming and works him through it, cock throbbing in his hand, until Chris whines too sensitive. 

He lets Ricky down, still breathing heavily. Ricky rests his head against his shoulder still sucking in air. Chris hums quietly, stroking Ricky’s hair and kissing the side of his head. 

‘Hey, do wanna go somewhere less… gross?’ he says and Ricky laughs. 

‘Ow, fuck,’ Ricky says as a sudden burning sensation spreads across his hand. He feels his stomach drop. No. He looks at his palm, seeing the pattern starting to spiral and whirl underneath his skin. _No_. _Fuck_ no. This is not happening. 

‘Is that—?’ Chris says, voice shocked. He’s looking at his own palm and Ricky wants to shout at him to stop it. Because this is not happening. Not now. Not ever. Not to him. Ricky can feel himself panting as the pattern solidifies, a couple of shades darker than his skin tone like a long-healed scar. Marking him as someone’s forever. But Ricky didn’t belong to anyone. Ricky wasn’t created for anyone. Ricky is already complete all on his own. He’s not even sure he has a soul, let alone a missing half of one. 

And besides, he wants to scream at the universe, a handjob in a club toilet is _not_ sex. 

On autopilot, Ricky pulls up the zip of his jeans and pivots on the spot. He yanks the cubicle door open and stalks out, through the smokers’ area and through the club to the empty street outside. It’s raining but Ricky doesn’t hesitate. There isn’t a plan; he’s just walking. He just needs to be away from the reality that had just smashed into his life. 

He can hear wet footsteps behind him. He doesn’t pause. He hears a heavy sigh. 

‘Dude, at least give me your number.’

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's my two cents on soulmates— as a mechanic in writing super interesting, loads things you could do, but as a concept I am _supremely_ irritated by the implication the you can't be complete on your own... (also sex can be whatever you want to define it as and doesn't have to be penetrative, Ricky's just clutching at straws) okay, soapbox is going away now 😅
> 
> [xyours-eternallyx](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xyours-eternallyx) on tumblr 🙌


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